


Blood is the paint, and the walls are the canvas.

by BesChicken



Category: B.A.P
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Alternate Universe - Skydive (Music Video), Angst, B.A.P is a gang is this one, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Broken Brotherhood, CAN I JUST SAY, Dark Humor, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hallucinations, Heavy Angst, I also focus on fire, I don’t want any of y’all feeling bad, I wouldn’t advise reading this, I wouldn’t describe bap as a ot6 in the universe, Im sorry if this offends anyone, Insane Kim Jongup, Jongup is also changed, Killer Kim Jongup, Knives, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, OT6, Proceed with caution, SO, Skydive(Music Video), Was that title too far, Weapons, also theres the describing of the feel of smoke filling your lungs, but when they do they’ll follow that person to hell if they need it, i believe ive warned everything, i did change it from the mv, if I missed one please tell me immediately, if you are disgusted by blood or even the thought of it, if you’re triggered by fire or have bad memories about it, ima put the tag anyways, its more so like a brotherhood that’s been broken, its not a a relationship, just a little warning, or don’t read at all, smoke inhalation, so don't expect a happy ending, the way they die and the order in which they die, they may not trust easily, this hurt mah soul, triggering, watching skydive for the first time when i was stanning bap was a fucking rollercoaster, you know like a shit ton of their mvs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-05-02 04:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BesChicken/pseuds/BesChicken
Summary: The calming strokes across the paper; creating something new, imagining a world, and bringing it to life through light presses, and flicks of his hand.The weight of a brush on his hand, similar to the weight of a knife, paint like that of the consistency thick blood.The crimson blood is his paint, and the light grey walls is the blank canvas.





	Blood is the paint, and the walls are the canvas.

**Author's Note:**

> Serious Warning: If you are triggered by the following: 
> 
> Smoke Inhalation, Fire, Death, Violence, and Weapons,; descriptions of what could be considered undiagnosed mental health issues. 
> 
> Blood, detailed descriptions of said blood.  
> Detailed explanations, and visualizations of fatal wounds.  
> In depth descriptions of everything above.  
> Character(s) with obvious mental instability. 
> 
> I think I've covered everything, but if I haven't, please tell me immediately.
> 
> \ \/ /  
> / /\ \
> 
>  
> 
> This was inspired by first, by that gif of Yongguk(my beloved bias) flicking open and closing shut the lighter! We’ve all seen that, right?
> 
>    
> [Look at this shit](https://78.media.tumblr.com/30f1f6ad47623624b7271c7fa1efb069/tumblr_ofy67sOFhD1rjns54o1_500.gif)  
>  
> 
>  
> 
> There it is, enjoy!  
> gASP Bes is that a fic more than 600 words? The fuck? Dear God the end of the world in upon us
> 
> Dude this was hard as fuck, those writers out there who write 10,000 words a day, shit power to you guys  
> Cause fuck, I pulled this outta my ass and luckily I’m happy with it
> 
> I just wanted to say this; holy shit CLK and my SK fic are doing well?? fuck.
> 
> Again, I'd like to bring attention to the warnings and the tags; they aren't there for no reason, so please read them. I'm serious. 
> 
> I took a risk writing this, and I know that, but I'm honestly more worried about any one of you feeling bad because of me.
> 
> \ \/ /  
> / /\ \
> 
>  
> 
> Well, here's my sad attempt at being serious.  
> If you couldn't tell, I'm horrible at fluff, so let's fucking hope I'm good at angst!
> 
> yay.
> 
> Anyway, without you having to read my bullshit rambling for any longer, here is “Blood is the paint, and the walls are the canvas.”

 

 

They’ve all done terrible things; Yongguk burned down a house once, just because he wanted to watch something burn, watching his own lighter got too boring and routine.

He wanted to smell the smoke, inhale it.

 

The shrieks of burning men and women, the smell of the sizzling skin- it all brings him a tornado of emotions.  

To feel the smoke filling his lungs, to feel his lungs be at the brink of failing, of finally giving out; to give him the relief of leaving this world after causing so much pain, and sorrow.

To himself, and to the people around him. Some for no reason, the innocent ones; one could argue no person is innocent, but that’s not the point.

 

 

And the ones who deserved it, needed to have justice be dealt, Yongguk isn’t someone to deal this justice, how could he be? He himself isn’t free of crime, with hands as bloodied as his; the others seem like simple walks through the park.

 

Yongguk breathes, in and out, in and out- lifelessly.

Just existing; for himself, and for his younger brothers.

His dongsaengs, the younger boys who if Himchan and him didn’t “save” them, would have still been innocent young men.

 

He doesn’t have the right to play the victim, and he won’t.

 

 

These thoughts run rapidly through his mind every time. Somehow being made sense of; he’s glad in this moment, happy even.

His lungs give one last shuttering, and desperate breath. Gasping, through wet gargles of blood.

 

His only solace in life was the flame; he wanted to feel the heat, and hear the screams of the trapped men and women inside.

Yongguk isn’t an angel, and he doesn’t describe himself as one. Remember: Yongguk isn’t the liar- that’s Jongup, the lying selfish prick.

 

 

Jongup isn’t his problem, not anymore.

Yongguk could have done better, should have done better; for the men who depended on him, and who he’d depended on as well.

 

The pyromaniac knows why; he desperately- needed- to just blindly trust, give his heart willingly for the younger to mercilessly crush in front of him.

His heart; his brothers, himself; all of it, shattered so easily at the hands of a young blue-haired boy that they all wanted so eagerly to trust.

 

 

But after what happened at that small, and rotted warehouse, it doesn’t matter.

 

 

\ \/ /

/ /\ \

 

 

\ \/ /

/ /\ \

 

 

 

Himchan hasn’t done enough.

Himchan was tasked with preparing and shipping various drugs and weapons, while also being responsible for six other grown men; he has raised these boys, in a way.

 

 

Yongguk and He. Yongguk And Himchan, the revered duo. Shame to think, that’s all bullshit; maybe at one point it wasn’t, at one point they didn’t both hate each other, even considered loving each other.

 

Himchan doesn’t hate his leader, he doesn’t love him either- it’s a sick attachment, they’re intertwined together for the rest of their misused lives.

But then Jongup came into the picture, at first it was only a small but feared group of five, they were all one another needed.

 

 

Jongup wasn’t in the gang, not at first. All six had known each other since childhood, but only five had gotten dragged into this cruel lifestyle; hoping to keep the young boy from this life, they had never contacted him afterwards.

 

They were barely considered adults, Junhong had only just turned twenty-one; and they’ve all done things they regret and can’t take back- they’re old enough to understand what killing, stealing, and seducing a person for information means.

 

Although Daehyun, and Youngjae understand seducing a semi-innocent person more than the rest of them; Jongup knows more than they all at one point thought.

 

Him and his leader were the first to be tainted, now- he has no idea what their younger selves were thinking.

 

If he had a choice, he’d change everything.

He’d get Yongguk and himself out from this depressing life, and save their dongsaengs from this lifestyle entirely.  

 

Himchan refuses to even think about Jongup, even though his natural mothering instincts begs him to.

 

 

Only seeing him a few times, as Jongup  worked as a bartender in a nearby shady bar.

Youngjae had known the younger had a part-time job here, maybe that’s why he dragged them all here, maybe he wanted to see the innocent child, after not seeing him- for at the time, five years.

 

Or maybe the hacker just wanted a scotch, who knows.

 

But hearing that Jongup was being held for ransom, for merely knowing them. As soon as the males got the note, all were fucking enraged.

Showing it in different ways, Daehyun had flipped a table, and screamed in agony. He hadn’t seen nor heard from the boy, Not since they had coldly turned him away years ago. He had found himself regretting it.

 

For the first time since Junhong had his first kill- they regretted everything.

Every move, every decision. Every fucking person any of them had ever killed.

All burning a deep pit of regret in their stomachs.

 

 

Yongguk never being the type to seek help from anyone, only coped with the situation with that fucking lighter.

Flinging it open, and closing it with a soft click.

 

A constant noise in the background, Himchan listened to it, and heard it every day for the last  five years.

 

God, Himchan hates that goddamned lighter. If he could, and it wouldn’t destroy his unfortunate partner-in-crime; he’d hide the thing, he could never fully destroy it.

Because no matter what, Himchan still cares about their blank and at times fucked-in-the-head leader.

 

Because as much as he hates to admit it, the lighter means something to all of them.

 

To Yongguk it’s a pillar, of support and a reminder.

To Himchan it’s an everyday reminder to protect his dongsaengs and Hyung.

 

To Daehyun it’s an object that keeps his precious leader alive.

 

To Youngjae, it’s something that he made happen, it’s a memory of when they were happy and innocent- all of them.

 

To Junhong, it’s a memento of the past, a past that he wants to bring back, just to see their young and happy faces; not bearing the heavy shadows of stress and the sheen across their eyes of being an adult.

 

To Jongup, it’s not something he regrets, he loved carving those letters into that lighter- at the time, he wasn’t a traitor or insane.

He was just a bit who needed guidance, and with barely adult boys around him, he never got the correct guiding light.

 

 

Himchan thinks back to when the pair met, if they had never met; they wouldn’t have condemned these innocent boys. Why did they do it?

Did they want someone else to feel their pain, or did the two somehow think they were helping these boys?

 

Himchan doesn’t know anymore, envy and anger, pain and happiness, suffering and contentment.

 

What do those emotions even feel like? It’s been so long.

 

Well it doesn’t matter, after Himchan’s end of the story ends; after his head is brutally blown apart. His blood spattered against a grey wall, like strokes from a painting.

 

His leather jacket, and boots torn, and sticky with the thick blood of their enemies and brothers alike. Junhong laying across from Youngjae, their feet almost touching.

Youngjae’s lifeless eyes staring towards their maknae, longingly? Hopelessly?

 

If Himchan wasn’t dead, he’d think they were still trying to reach each other; they were.

 

Even in death, Himchan would still rather die than say he loves them, and he did die- painfully.

He can make jokes about it now, but before- he couldn’t even find a joke like this funny.

 

Death is a serious topic, whether you’re in the underground or not. he doesn’t- or didn’t- believe in it- dark humor. Unlike Youngjae who because of what he went through, just seemed to joke about it more.

 

 

The picture just gets worse.

 

 

Daehyun leans against a pillar, the sight mirrors his own; bloodied, bruised.

In Daehyun’s case, he’s still breathing; he wasn’t shot in the head, Himchan thinks it was his chest, maybe?

 

Brains and blood of different unfortunate gang members decorating the walls behind them, sprinkling across their faces, mixing together with the caked dirt in tracks on their cheekbones.

 

 

Yongguk seems to be the one who died the most painfully; a sick thought appears, Guk would have found in strange honor is such a death.

Finally, after so many years, somebody took them down- and it had to be someone close.

It needed to be, Yongguk doesn’t let just anyone in, into his heart or into the gang.

 

 

He trusted the younger boy- not a man, a mere boy did this; shoved Yongguk against a wall, and mercilessly shot into the leader’s stomach until nothing was left but a gushing, bleeding hole, or until he ran out of bullets.

 

Jongup’s high chuckling will haunt him into the afterlife. It’s high, and also low, it’s deep but also airy; it growls, but also whispers soothingly.

The younger’s personalities are melding into one in that small moment, becoming sickeningly sweet and unbearably sour.

 

Jongup’s hair- dyed a deep blue- stands out against the grey, and white tones painting the walls.

Along with their mixed blood- still drying on the walls, and the scent of iron hanging in the air as a thick fragrance.

 

 

The smell of the blood, clinging onto their ripped jackets, and stained bodies. the taste still lingering in- from his abused bottom lip- Jongup’s mouth, the feeling of the wet substance coating the bottom of his jeans, and his hands.

 

Jongup has a fascination towards the arts; some like music, others lean more towards literature- he prefers painting.

The calming strokes across the paper; creating something new, imagining a world, and bringing it to life through light presses, and flicks of his hand.

The weight of a brush in his hand, similar to the weight of a knife, paint like that of the consistency of  thick blood.

The crimson blood is his paint, and the light grey walls are his blank canvas

 

It’ll be horribly beautiful, Himchan surrounded by the still-warm corpses of his gang members and brothers, while Jongup stands over them with an insane smirk splitting his stained lips; if it’s from the blood, or his natural color- it doesn’t really matter.

 

Because he would soon turn and slice the other gang members throats open, a jagged slash, a red line from ear to ear.

Crimson liquid bubbles up in their throats, spewing it from the long cut, and running down- turning one man’s blue shirt, a messy purple and a deep stain covers the collar of his shirt.

 

The silk black shirt under his leather jacket is ruined. Tainted with the strong smell of gunpowder, and blood; just like him.

Tainted, and ruined.

 

Jongup barely blinked when Youngjae grabbed him after being shot, protectively holding him against the hacker’s chest, like some sort of child; when _rescuing_ him- they must have felt so proud of themselves.

They’d barely agreed to giving him a gun, despite him knowing exactly how to handle a firearm, he acted slightly scared and unsure, but due to Himchan’s insistence- he was given one.

 

He should win an Oscar, for he- the lowly Moon Jongup fooled Kim Himchan.

Himchan who’s never been gullible, had wool pulled over his eyes, and instead of seeing the brutal younger man.

He saw an innocent child, a boy in need of protection.

 

 

Oh, poor Himchan, if only he was worth more to Jongup’s employer- Jongup would have loved to have had a little bit of terrifying fun.

But it was also too much of a hassle to betray his employer- by stealing away Himchan.

An unknown emotion of loss swells in his cold chest.

 

 

Loss? Of what? His _Hyungs_ ? His _dongsaeng?_ Of playing the innocent young boy, of remembering when he was innocent, without fault and the evil hadn’t consumed him entirely.

The thought seems magical, and far away now; a distant memory, or a fantasy world of which Jongup dreamed up years ago.

 

A phantom touch of someone trailing their hands up and down the nape of his neck. It’s something all of his Hyungs used to do when they were younger.

When they were young, and happy- when Junhong hadn’t murdered someone, accidentally or not, he took a life.

 

When Daehyun didn’t use to steal, and bribe and mercilessly kill for profit for his own group.

 

There is something wrong with _all_ of them, something hits Jongup in that small meaningful moment: there is no _all_ anymore, it’s only him.

A singular man, a boy; who has more blood on his hands- literally and figuratively- than most young men his age.

Normal boys would be dating, having girlfriends/boyfriends, trying those horrible pickup lines everyone knows won’t work.

 

Not him, though.

 

He’s murdering, stealing and stabbing people in the back for money.

A thought rises to the surface; his mother would be so proud of him.

 

Suddenly he finds it difficult to smile at the cooling bodies of his dead brothers, “Ah, Dae-Hyung!” He forces a cheery tone as he waves off the remaining of his employer’s fighters.

Even if they’ve known that poor fuck for years, down in the underground- if you’re smart, you don’t argue if your friend gets murdered.

 

“You’re alive, you’re one persistent motherfucker.” his voice lowers considerably, just enough for the gasping older man to make out.

 

“Oh, can’t talk, huh? A bit inconsiderate of you, _but_ I’ll forgive it.” His eyes turn cold in a moment; Daehyun can’t force any words to come out, he’s too weak.

What would he say, anyway?

 

**_I’m sorry? How did this happen, how could you?_ **

 

**_How dare you call me Hyung?_ **

 

**_How can you stand to look at yourself in the mirror._ **

 

**_Monster._ **

 

 **_When did you lose yourself, when did we_ ** **_lose you?_ **

 

Many thoughts pass through his head, his vision blurring at the edges as the pain, and the freezing death creeps up his body; chilling, and almost unbearable pain moves slowly through his limbs.

 

“Finally kicking the bucket?” Jongup growls the words out, getting close to Daehyun’s face, watching sadistically as the older man’s eyes glaze over with unawareness.

 

Daehyun with his last bit of strength, weakly lifts his still loaded gun- and desperately tries to do- something.

Shoot the traitor, end himself? Either way, he didn’t get a choice in the end.

 

“Here, I’ll be merciful.” Jongup speaks with sweetness mixing with his usual soft tone; except this time Daehyun knows the real him. Sweet, and innocent, or traitorous and cynical.

For the younger man, it all just blends into one, whichever will profit him more is his true self.

He’s learned to adopt this way of thinking after his second job.

 

 

“Say hello to my Hyungs, and dongsaeng for me.” Daehyun wishes he was able to speak, he’d curse his dongsaeng, or profess his apologies. The leather clad man doesn’t get a chance to even produce the tiniest whimper, before Jongup pulls the trigger.

 

 

A simple movement, just a twitch of his finger- and then someone’s dead; the power that’s placed in the hands of basically a child, will one day bite the higher-ups asses.

He’d hoped that after he finished the job, after he shot his “Hyung”, the painful twisting of his stomach would cease.

 

It only seemed to worsen over time; as he ignores the sharp pain located near his heart to finally break his contract.

He stands, with his icy fingers he trails his hand down Daehyun’s eyelids; closing them forever, they’ll never open again.

No one will get to see the elder’s mocha eyes, that turn almost gold in direct lighting.

 

 

He steps carefully over Junhong’s body, his long legs spanning from his spot to where Youngjae lays limp.

 

He doesn’t say a word, he just tightens his grip on the sharp daggers handle, to the point where his knuckles turned white from the intense pressure.

It doesn’t feel as euphoric as it normally does when blood pours over his hands, drenching him in the oil-like substance

 

A great sense of unease, and misery violently twists his stomach into tight knots.

It pisses him off, his feet fall heavier on the pavement, uncaring if they hear his clinks of his jackets various chains, and zippers

 

He channels that bubbling fiery rage into his slashes, and wide cuts; rage can be a hell of a motivator.

One man after the other, a messy cut for each one; how they don’t notice their gang members scream, even Jongup doesn’t know.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the murder he and others just performed.

 

Because that’s what it is; a performance.

A sick dance that Jongup willingly engages in, smoothly rolling his wrist as his knife that glints in the light- plunges into the back of a head.

 

And with movement similar to that of liquid; he fluidly stabs his dagger into the leather-jacket wearing female’s chest- it’s not strange to see a woman in the underground- and whips around to then strongly slam his foot against a solid head.

 

He’s become numb to the pain, on the outside- performing the task emotionlessly, blank faced.

It possibly scares the woman crawling on her hands and knees even more.

 

She didn’t worry about it for too long.

 

 

The screams fade into white noise for him, just a sound he’s too used to hearing in his everyday life.

His hair clings onto his forehead, sweating slightly; he cracks his neck, wincing at the sharp sound.

 

“Plea-please, let me go! I-I swear I won’t-!” The male’s blabbing is quickly turned into a wet garbled noise coming from the man’s bubbling throat.

 

Jongup makes a face as his knife is soaked in blood; not a grimace as anyone might believe, but an insane grin.

 

He admires it, dragging his finger along the edge; with that goddamn smirk tugging on his lips.

But even that grin has pain hidden behind the veil, pain that Jongup refuses to acknowledge; and will refuse to acknowledge till he himself meets his former brothers in the afterlife.

 

 

 

\ \/ /

/ /\ \

 

 

\ \/ /

/ /\ \

 

 

 

Years later, he still sees them; sometimes their bodies are partly hidden by a wall, or they’re standing right in front of him, the phantom blood dripping down on his shoes.

 

It’s worse when he can barely see their silhouettes, maybe in a window, or behind the curtain when he’s taking a freezing shower.

 

Junhong visits him the most, with Himchan and Daehyun being the close second and third.

 

Junhong just stands behind him, silently watching him, Jongup expects him to just lash out sometimes; but he never does.

He just- stands there, like Jongup used to.

 

When they were younger, Junhong felt safe knowing that his Hyung was always behind him, protecting him even though Jongup knew he didn’t need it.

Those kids were only threatened once with a small sharpen stick pressing up against their throats, and they stopped pretty quickly.

 

Jongup crushes an innocent insect under his dirt streaked boot, laughing to himself.

He quiets down almost immediately.

 

The singing starts again, and Junhong vanishes with a single glance over his shoulder; are they taking turns now? Jongup thinks with annoyance, and a hint of amusement.

 

The angelic, and erie voice fills the room; Jongup would like to say none of this is real, and he knows it.

The now blonde man, sits there quietly awaiting the man who bleeds profusely from the giant hole in the side of his head.

 

None of them talk, if you don’t count the whispers or chilling singing as a conversation; he’s never figured out if they’re angry, or sad mutterings.

Daehyun strides in, walking in out of seemingly nowhere, Jongup doesn’t need to look to know that the deadman walked in with a grin.

 

 

The grin mixes with anger, happiness and sorrow.

His Hyung’s eyes show it all, Jongup prides himself on reading people, knowing their weaknesses instantly.

 

His heart aches when Himchan doesn’t come, not that day, or the next few.

He stopped years ago, Jongup likes to think that the cabinets slamming and cold breezes are Youngjae and Himchan fucking with him.

 

Logically; it’s the always open windows, Jongup isn’t of completely sound mind.

If anybody couldn’t tell.

 

Days lasted after eventually Daehyun, and Junhong stop visiting, the clicking began.

It was so insistent, never ceasing.

 

No matter what he did, it didn’t matter how many earplugs he had, how loud he had his music- it rang over them easily.

 

Jongup covers his ears tightly as it gets faster.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he understands he deserves this.

 

He sweeps his hand across his small taped-together desk, hearing objects knocking harshly on the aged wood- but doesn’t check.

 

It grows louder, it’s almost like the sound of a window slamming shut, and reopening.

A sick thought passes through his mind: would he die like this? He’d deserve it, he deserves worse than this.

 

This would be _merciful._

 

An orange light flashes over his eyes, heat passes over his skin, burning of the hairs and skin that lies there.

He’s not weak, it doesn’t hurt- but nevertheless he has a hard time opening his eyes; “You’re a traitor.” The leader’s voice blends into his incoherent mumbles and hysterical giggles.

 

It’s not the leader, the man would never have laughed while torturing a person; that’s what Daehyun and Youngjae did those jobs for.

 

Yongguk just couldn’t handle it, he had set houses, and burned his own money on fire- listened to the screams of the burning gangsters; but hated hearing his dongsaengs murder and charm.

 

Yongguk had shame, even back then and even after what he had done.

 

 

Jongup’s heavy breathing doesn’t reach anyone’s ears, why would it? He doesn’t have neighbors, living inside of an cabin with the wood on the outside chipping off- with no nearby civilizations,surprisingly doesn’t force him to have any friendly neighbors.

 

Rocking back and forth like some sort of nightmare tormented child.

After all this time, it’s finally completely destroyed him.

 

 

Yongguk’s hand smoothly moves through the motion he’s gone through so many times.

Flicking that rusted lighter that doesn’t have anymore fuel in it, the name “B.A.P”  carved messily into the bottom.

 

_Best, absolute, perfect._

 

A stupid name Junhong had come up with; Jongup remembers it well, the exact messy scratches on the cloudy and untaken care of lighter.

It’s as clear in his mind as when he carved it, and gifted it to his Hyung at the time.

It was such a happy time in their fucked up lives, Jongup’s lips tug into a regretful and joyless smile.

 

“Traitor, traitor, traitor..” he repeats, running his fingers through his greasy hair, he blinks rapidly- some aware part of his brain trying to take over control from this hysterical side of him.

 

“You deserve death, but maybe that would be too merciful? You did pride yourself on being ‘ _merciful’_ excuse me if I don’t share the same kindness.” The leader’s shirt is soaked with blood as Yongguk leans in closely.

Nearly brushing noses with the blonde.

 

“Good luck, I’ll be here! _Trust me._ ” The cheery tone doesn’t fit Yongguk’s angry face or the dangerous curl of his lip.

 

Jongup recognizes those words, and knows what the leader is referencing.

He had said those exact words before the group had been murdered.

He freezes, even with the fire tickling his skin, originating from the fallen candle, creeping up the ratty curtains with the intention of cleansing this house with fire.

 

He still feels so fucking cold.

He recoils from the sharp heat; releasing a pained sound- almost a pitiful grunt.

 

The window attracts his attention, even from his spot on the floor, he can see them.

Silently- always so quietly watching him burn.

 

 

From his blurred vision, his eyes painfully burn as the smoke stings them.

 

Junhong who once almost had a happy and trusting smile on his face, only now has a permanent blank mask plastered on, along with the everpresent blood and grime.

The maknae’s tall form partially hidden by Himchan's bloodied body. Standing protectively in front of the taller boy.

 

Youngjae, and Daehyun stand together, watching silently; it’s an unsettling sight, the two boys who never stopped talking- to just be there, quietly staring.

 

Yongguk- with the never ending blood still seeping from his gaping wound, his hands twitch, moving to flick out the lighter.

If Jongup wasn’t hallucinating, he’d say Yongguk was watching with almost an aura of acceptance, and- pride.

 

 

What a fitting end to his pathetic existence. Without knowing it, his thoughts aligned with Yongguk’s years ago; but as Yongguk’s body lied there, and as he watched his little brothers die in horrible ways- his view quickly changed.

 

A laugh bubbles up in his throat, as for the first time in years; he actually felt physical pain; the flames wrapping around his ankles- as it seemingly pulls him deeper in. His hair sticks to his forehead, the sweat glistening in the flickering light.

The shadows framing his face along with his dark-eyes make a terrifying picture.   

 

It hurts, so fucking horribly. Not even he can stop from twitching, and whimpering in pain.

His dark eyes cloud over with tears, his throat producing garbled coughs, and grunts.

 

He closes his eyes, giving into the flame.

Will he finally understand his Hyung fully?

 

The older man who had such a fascination with the burning heat, someone who never talked about his trauma with the flame either.

The younger man could tell that Yongguk was constantly troubled by something, whether it was his mind, or his own past; Jongup will never know, or maybe he will.

 

 

Did possibly Yongguk save him a seat in Hell, beside the rest, to right his wrongs? Jongup’s small smile breaks; broken, and shaking is how he’d described himself at this moment.

A moment, that he doesn’t even feel right about regretting killing. It’s worse that he doesn’t regret killing in general, he regrets killing _them_.

 

And he can’t even apologize, they’re dead- murdered by his hand; there may have been a gun, or a knife between them.

An object between him, and then warm flesh, but _he_ did it.

 

 

Even he can hear his own screams, he was confused for a moment as to where the chilling screams were coming from, before he inevitably realized they were his own.

 

Slowly driven insane by his own guilt, and sadness- neither did he acknowledge before it was too late.  

If he had stopped himself, restrained himself from commiting the act of murdering his Hyungs and dongsaeng.

 

He knew it was wrong, he just _thought_ he didn’t care.

 

 

 

But again, it doesn’t matter. After his house is purified with the intense flame, along with him still rocking back and forth inside, nothing will matter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Resident Evil voice) You are dead. 
> 
>  
> 
> Haha... don't kill me. 
> 
>  
> 
> This was the first B.A.P fic I've posted, but I have written about them before; it was a DaeJae oneshot and very bad for a young writer like myself.  
> Oh, yeah. I wrote a Himchan and Jongup work before too, again- Jongup was the traitorous bitch that he is.
> 
>  
> 
> Man, Rese got me into this group, and yeah when she said they do a lotta gang concepts, she wasn't fucking kidding.
> 
> I've seen them get shot, in the head or just in general way too many times.  
>  
> 
> Yeah, whenever I write about these idiots it's never fucking happy. 
> 
>    
> As many others believe, I also think that Jongup does have some- guilt? Remorse, or regret.  
> As a man who harbors so much regret, and for seemingly not caring about how he murdered; it has to come back to haunt him.
> 
> There just isn't another way, and honestly, I don't think he would have wanted it any other way. 
> 
> It's not a new concept, or even a recent idea- that certain "ghosts" that appear in Jongup's house, or lurk in the corners of his mind.  
> But it's still very interesting to have had to get into this mindset, a mindset that's so fucked, for Yongguk, for Jongup, and for Himchan; self-destructive, and also harmful to the soul and mind. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm sorry, I went way too deep in my thoughts for these notes, huh?  
> oops
> 
> I need help.
> 
>  [Iz me](https://twitter.com/Bes_Chicken)
> 
>  
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment, and a kudos!


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